


La calma antes de la tormenta

by TheIdiotParade



Category: Book of Life (2014)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Pre-Canon, does this even count as angst, i don't really think so, kind of, unreality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-29 03:16:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12621932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIdiotParade/pseuds/TheIdiotParade
Summary: Xibalba is restless, leading up to the events of the movie





	La calma antes de la tormenta

**Author's Note:**

> Story, otherwise known as "T-bone thing" in my folder
> 
> Hi, I haven't written anything in years and I've never really put up anything anywhere  
> So here you go anyway  
> Fun fact about this story: I started writing this in 2015 and back then, it was only 176 words long. I never finished it until now (not without a lot of tweaks though)

Xibalba shuddered slightly, as he slithered soundlessly through the so-called ‘castle’ of his. Really, it looked more like a fanciful gate to hell from the outside than anything, as if the land itself wasn’t _already_ comparable to that. The Land of the Forgotten was a very inhospitable realm. A place where dreams, creativity, _life_ went to die. He knew that first-hand. Always snowing ash in the grey-scale realm, with jagged spikes and cliffs protruding everywhere, and large, rusty, iron chains, binding the ground to the cavernous ceiling above, obscured by fog. Impressive, certainly, but it wasn’t exactly _festive_.

And that wasn’t even pointing out the elephant in the room – the awfully depressing inhabitants. Xibalba had tried to change it, turn it around and extinguish that _terrible_ radio silence, he really had! Thought perhaps that the land itself was to blame for the dreary atmosphere, and while he had no control over the environment, he _had_ tried to cheer up the inhabitants, _had_ attempted communication and asked them about their pasts, _had_ waved his hand in front of their faces to make them react, _had_ waggled a finger around inside their eyeholes in an attempt to get something _, anything_ out of them, _had_ tried to get them to remember what _living_ was like.

Xibalba paused his endless pacing, his brows furrowed slightly and wings, tense.

It didn't work. The inhabitants were up to their necks in regret, too busy wallowing in misery and self-pity to even care about his efforts. They wouldn’t even _move_ , or give him the time of the day by just _looking_ at him. The selfish bastards. He ended up talking to them sometimes anyway, full-well knowing he might as well be talking to a door. On the flipside, they made for a great venting audience, if quiet. Very, very quiet, except for the occasional, eerie, zombie-like moans they’d emit.

He found himself staring out at the black masses.

Even though he would never admit it out loud, Xibalba felt alone, trapped down in this ironically bright realm. Lit up by the lava flowing beneath, and the ashes that lay like snow across the landscape. It was an empty sort of bright. It was nothing. It was torture, it was _boring_. No one to talk to (read: no one that cared enough to listen), no one to distract him from this all-consuming time sink, where it felt like no time passed... Time didn’t even feel real, down here. Sometimes he’d wonder if it was.

He sneered and continued pacing, now with a goal in mind.

He found that in his loneliness, he had begun to envy his estranged wife. La Muerte had it easy. Her realm was bright (in the good way) and festive, an eternal _jovialidad!_ As the complete opposite of his own realm, it was full of life and the inhabitants there _adored_ her!

It wasn’t fair.

It really, really wasn’t.

His wings drooped a little.

At least he was able to visit her realm before – not like there was much to rule over down here anyway – but not anymore (did he even _want_ to visit that realm anymore, even if he could? He wasn’t so sure it’d be worth it). Muerte had made it worth it. Now it wasn’t. Simple as that.

Simple.

Xibalba’s thoughts quieted for a moment as he slithered closer to his goal; the stone mural encarved in a wall, featuring both him and La Muerte.

He gazed at it with a forlorn expression.

When he had installed it, it was to celebrate their love. Now, it was a painful reminder of the argument that had ensued, before he was confined to this place. And a reminder of _her_. La Noche, that snake.

His eyes narrowed, his fists clenched and his expression soured at the mere thought of her. She was all at fault for this, not Muerte, never Muerte. Xibalba was mad at her too, at first. But the centuries had definitely laid a dampener on his anger, and from then on, he had focused it on Noche, and Noche _only_.

She’d better be grateful that their realms weren’t at all close, or Xibalba would’ve… well. He still didn’t know _what_ he’d do to get back at her yet without alerting Chamuco, that brainless idiot, but it definitely would be something. And he couldn’t believe he ever saw anything in her! It was good that he didn’t end up with her, it was great that he met Muerte, and **.**

He sighed, frowning, and shook his head, the skulls inside his eyes gently bobbing up and down in response. There was an ache in his chest, and he brought his hand up to press against the area, hidden beneath his armored breastplate. He looked at his own hand, expressionless, like the concept of a hurting heart was foreign. Yet, he _knew_ what this was about. It just felt odd. He’d been trying to distance himself from it, after all. With nonchalance. But while he _felt_ number, it clearly hadn’t done any greater wonders.

Perhaps… perhaps he should finally try talking it over with Muerte and convince her of his innocence. He couldn’t take much more of this. It’d been centuries by now, _surely_ , she couldn’t still be mad! Maybe she’d finally believe that he _wasn’t_ just trying to worm himself out of a sticky situation.

Having known her, of course she could still be mad. Very, very mad. Really, what did he expect – but perhaps, he could convince her to leave it in the past somehow?

Perhaps.

Xibalba stroked his beard thoughtfully.  
He knew just the thing - if all else were to fail - and only then.


End file.
